


A Simple Choice

by just_quintessentially_me



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Chapter 115 Spoilers, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-16 00:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/just_quintessentially_me
Summary: The rain had started up again. Fat droplets drummed over her hood, drenching the fabric. Her horse’s reins were wet and cold; though her fingers, numbed from continued exposure to the elements, could hardly feel them.Following the sound of the explosion, they’d arrived at a clearing. It was a mess of blackened, shattered wood, and the wagon, a skeleton, was little more than a smoking husk. Beyond the wreckage, a titan lay prostrate. Felled, its limp, hulking form was barely visible through the rain.As soldiers shouted, pointing at the creature, one of the horses still tethered to the ruined wagon, writhed. When the beast screamed a broken, panicked wail, her own horse shifted, flanks twitching with unease.Hanji barely noticed.The soldiers' voices, the poor beast’s screams, even the heavy, even thrum of rain - had silenced as she looked to the river.A body lay at the edge of the dark, white-capped water.





	1. A Simple Choice

**Author's Note:**

> The new chapter gave me a lot of feelings??

The rain had started up again. Fat droplets drummed over her hood, drenching the fabric. Her horse’s reins were wet and cold; though her fingers, numbed from continued exposure to the elements, could hardly feel them.

Following the sound of the explosion, they’d arrived at a clearing. It was a mess of blackened, shattered wood, and the wagon, a skeleton, was little more than a smoking husk. Beyond the wreckage, a titan lay prostrate. Felled, its limp, hulking form was barely visible through the rain.

As soldiers shouted, pointing at the creature, one of the horses still tethered to the ruined wagon, writhed. When the beast screamed a broken, panicked wail, her own horse shifted, flanks twitching with unease.

Hanji barely noticed.

The soldier’s voices, the poor beast’s screams, even the heavy, even thrum of rain - had silenced as she looked to the river.

A body lay at the edge of the dark, white-capped water.

If not for the design on it’s back, the green cloak would have been neatly concealed within the dark river reeds. But the white, silver, and blue stood out like a beacon.

The person beneath the cloak was still and silent as the rocks which dotted the shore.

She slid off her horse, boots sinking in mud. Someone shouted after her, but her ears were already occupied, filled with a ringing buzz.

It was a soldier. One of her soldiers - out here by her orders; and therefore, her responsibility.

Her sense of unease grew as she passed a broken fragment of blade and saw two pale, severed fingers still grasping at the hilt.

Her boots slid over wet grass as she stumbled down the embankment.

The body beneath the cloak was slight - dwarfed by the wide, roaring river beyond.

The buzzing crescendoed to a roaring white noise, because - because -

The person’s shape was achingly familiar.

Denial coiled, cold in the pit of her stomach, because the stubborn bastard had survived this long. Even if the plan had gone seven ways to hell, if anyone was capable of surviving and escaping, it would have been him. It should have been him.

She dropped to her knees, river water and mud splattering up her thighs.

The blood soaked fabric was cool, but not cold. When she gripped at the soldier’s shoulder, she could feel a hint of warmth beneath. Alive - maybe. Or very recently dead.

Denial shivered, twisting to dread.

She clenched and unclenched her hand, and wrenched the body onto its back.

The hood fell back and she lurched, instinctively reaching to cradle the lolling head.

Dark hair plastered over a forehead too pale. His face was caked in blood; broken shards of blade protruded from flesh, and a deep gash cleaved half his face from brow to chin.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Levi?” she breathed, horrified.

She heaved a second unsteady breath. Her hood must have fallen, because she was suddenly aware of rain falling over her hair. A single, heavy drop struck her forehead, and as it rolled a cold, straight path down the bridge of her nose, she stared down, and allowed herself a moment to feel the full spectrum of emotions pulsing behind her temples.

_God. What had Zeke done to him?_

Fear, horror,  _fury_. They washed over her in cold, undulating waves.

Her hand trembled where she braced his head. Slick blood coated her fingers, streaming down her wrist and arm. Her other hand was at his shoulder, fingers twisting into the fabric. He was too cold. Too still. She shivered, shoulders shaking as she clutched his limp body, and felt, for a singular moment, as if the world was again falling, crashing - burning.

The raindrop reached to the tip of her nose - and dropped.

The moment ended.

Stiffening, she forced the emotions down, and her fingers stilled in response. 

Wet footsteps sounded at her back.

She leaned over him, bloodied fingers wrapping behind his head to press against the juncture beneath his jaw. Holding her breath, she waited and felt - was that a weak beat? It was difficult to tell with the heavy rain striking her fingers. She heaved a shaky breath; it fogged in the cold air. Cursing, she adjusted her grip. 

Maybe she’d missed the pulse point. She must have, because the alternative was-

_Wait._

He’d moved.

It was slight. Barely there. If she’d blinked, she would have missed it.

Heavy steps pounded the mud. Soldiers were nearly upon them.

But there it was again - a blood drenched eyelid twitched.

Her fingers clenched reflexively over his shoulder.

His eyelids fluttered, then opened a crack. Silver-gray eyes lolled toward her. There was recognition in his gaze. His body, previously limp, stiffened, muscles clenching - and then his eyes rolled back. Lids falling closed, he sank back into her arms. 

Where her fingers still pressed against his neck, she felt another weak, stuttering pulse. 

Closing her eyes, she sank back on her heels.  _Still Alive._  

The air shifted, and there was the shuffle of steps and the metallic click of guns at her back. The soldiers’ voices were pitched low, and only as they stepped directly behind her could she make out their words. 

“...number one threat is here. All bloodied up.”

Then a new voice.

“Let’s shoot him in the head.”

Someone cocked a gun.

It took every ounce willpower not to clench up as raw horror rose in her throat. Of course they’d want to finish the job. Here was the one person Zeke truly feared. 

She didn’t trust her expression, so she gazed at Levi’s face and announced, in a calm, clear voice, “he’s dead.”

“He got caught in the explosion of a thunder spear at point blank range,” she continued, “I’ve seen similar accidents during training. Beyond external wounds, internal organs would be ripped to shreds and death would be instant.”

The lie was delivered in a smooth, even tone and she spoke from a position of authority. Looking up, she forced herself to meet Floch’s cold gaze.

Hands braced against his gun, he looked at her, then over Levi’s battered body. Rain splattered the grass between them.

“I can also take his pulse.” He said, frowning in evident distrust. Motioning her out of the way, he approached. “So let me have a look.”

The fury was back, sharp and searing, and it had her fingers curling protectively around the nape of Levi’s neck. Fear and anger overriding logic, she shifted, partially blocking Levi with her body as she stared up, glaring in open defiance.

Floch’s gaze instantly shifted to the body to which she so desperately clung, and she knew she’d made a mistake. A Survey Corps veteran wouldn’t be sentimental over a body. Even that of a friend. 

Floch’s gaze ficked back to her, and his lips twitched.

He knew.

He adjusted his grip on the rifle, and Hanji tensed, tumultuous, half formed plans tumbling through her head.

She could try to talk them down - but with Zeke missing, they were already on edge. She could bargain, of course, but with Zeke well and truly gone this time, she had little to offer - and a look at Floch’s cold gaze confirmed that, of this, he was well aware.

She shifted, bodily placing more of herself between Levi and the approaching soldiers.

Floch watched her move, and his mouth curled into a cruel, mocking smile, as if he saw what she was trying to do. He lifted the gun in warning.

She tensed, her thoughts a chaotic whirl. She could try to fight them. She’d have to - as of now, there were no other options. If she could get a gun - she eyed Floch’s - she might be able to distract them long enough to get Levi on a horse. And he might be just conscious enough to hold on. Hopefully.

She would stay. Hold them off long enough to give him a chance of escape.

She didn’t pause to consider her death. She’d had years to consider that eventuality. Here, in this moment, with Levi laying broken in her arms, she found there was only one singular objective for which she had any care: to save Levi Ackerman.

She wished she could say it was a strategic decision, a choice to save one of their strongest remaining assets. But that kind of strategy had long since fled from her mind.The second her knees struck the ground and her hands had pulled him from the mud, he’d ceased to be a soldier - and was again the warm body beside her at mealtimes, the rough hand dragging her away from experiments gone too long, the company who joined her in the study, as they sat together, reading late into the night, cups of coffee and tea cooling between them.

No, her reasons were damningly personal. And this time, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Levi would live. Even if it killed her.

Floch was above them, and she eyed his gun. Shifting her weight, she dug her toes into the mud, readying to leap and -

“Floch!” The shriek was sharp enough to pierce through the wall of rain. “There’s something weird with this titan!”

Floch and the other soldiers pivoted where they stood.

Hanji watched, wide-eyed, as steam billowed around the prone titan.

“Is it disappearing?” Floch mused, stepping away from her. “...did it die?”

Hanji stared, curious in spite of herself. This was…certainly unusual. “No,” she murmured, “Normally when steam is absorbed like that, it doesn’t disappear.”

Within the hissing steam, there was a flash of movement. The soldiers jerked their rifles to attention. Bracing the weapons against their shoulders, they nervously tracked the motion.

A lanky shadow shifted into human form, and then it was pitching forward. On hands and knees, a man emerged from the steaming carcass.

Droplets clung to her glasses. Brushing at them with her sleeve, she watched the man stand. His body was uninjured - unscarred. Grasping a steaming titan rib, he looked up.

Zeke lived.

Hanji’s breath left her in a rush as she watched Zeke step onto the open field, laying waste to her remaining plans with his every step.

She might have been able to hold off soldiers - at least for a time. But a titan shifter? Without her gear and without the thunder spears, she was all but helpless. She would be lucky to hold off the beast titan for more than a few seconds. And without a head start, even a fresh horse would be hard pressed to outrun him.

Zeke straightened, surveying the soldiers around him, and as he did, Levi twitched, shifting in her arms.

Somehow, Zeke had survived the thunder spear explosion that had incapacitated Levi. Now, Zeke would undoubtedly be eager to finish the job.

When Zeke turned his head in their direction, Hanji instinctively drew Levi in, hugging him against her.

Green eyes met hers. They were cold. Impassive.

Yes. Zeke would kill Levi without a thought.

Her blood thrummed, and she felt a pounding pressure behind her temples - because this was the worst kind of powerlessness. Here was the monster -  _no the man_ , and that made it worse - who had taken nearly  _everything_ from her. And she was here, without the gear she’d mastered, or the weapons she’d perfected, with one last precious thing in her arms.

She’d already resolved to die, but it was meaningless if it didn’t save him.

With the rain, the river had grown, and it was roaring as it rushed past, drowning out the sound of rainfall, nearly drowning out her thoughts -

_And - oh._

There was, then, still another choice left.

The river, still widening, lapped at her knees.

The river was dangerous, unpredictable, and she didn’t trust it. She, however, trusted Zeke and the Yaegerists still less.

Even if they spared her, they were certain to kill Levi. They considered him dangerous, even wounded as he was.

And with that thought, a sense of calm settled over her. It was decided. Of course it was decided.

She would die before she let them touch him.

This was an acceptable risk.

Rising up on her knees, she gathered Levi in her arms. She chanced a single look back. Zeke was still across the field, and the Yaegerists’ backs were to them.

She rose, clutching Levi against her chest.

Before her, the river roared.

From behind, came shouts.

 _Too late_ , she thought and leapt.

Into the river’s cold, dark depths, they plunged.


	2. From the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....I didn't mean for it to, but this kind of became a thing. A third part is on the way.

White mist rose from roaring, churning water. At its edge, she knelt, cradling the unconscious soldier in her arms, hugging him to her chest. His head, sticky with blood, lolled against her shoulder. At her neck, she felt the brush of his rasping, labored breaths.

Their enemies gathered nearby. For now, focused on Zeke’s return.

He would kill Levi, given the chance - not that she intended to give him one.

Against her neck, another soft, shallow breath.

It was no choice at all, really, to offer themselves to the river.

The dark water was willing, eager even.

It swallowed them whole.

The enemy’s voices rose, a frantic chorus behind them - and silenced as they plunged into darkness.

Water pressed, insistent; its frigid touch driving the air from her lungs as she instinctively clung to the body in her arms. Together, they sank, bubbles streaming from their clothes as violent, heady currents dragged them eagerly into deeper, harsher water. Water filled her boots, tangling her clothes, tearing at her hair. With icy abandon, the river snatched at the body in her arms.

She resisted.

Wrenching him back, she locked her arms around his chest. Together, they spun once, twice. She kicked out.

The water bodily flipped them.

She saw bright, refracting light and then -

Sharp air and dark clouds - and she was gasping for breath, struggling to haul Levi up, to keep his head above water.

The river’s bellow was joined by an abrupt and sudden accompaniment: hoof-beats over dirt and stone. Along the river’s edge, shadows galloped between trees.

Water dragged them down, and her heavy cloak wrapped around them, constricting. They flipped again, and Levi was nearly tugged from her grasp. She yanked at the fabric, and the button popped off. She kicked up as the cloak released, sinking behind them, a dark shadow swirling into the river’s depths.

Spitting water, she wrested Levi’s head back, cradling it against her shoulder as they bobbed up and down in the river. She was pressing a hand against his forehead, holding him steady when the nearby water exploded with a  _crack_.

She knew the sight and sound of gunfire, and her blood chilled with the realization that the riders had caught up.

Clutching Levi against her chest, she curled. They dipped down, sinking as bullets struck the surface with heavy pops, blazing bubbling paths through murky water.

She twisted away, pushing Levi ahead, toward the far shore. The Yaegerists had caught sight of them, and as long as their horses could keep up, she and Levi would be targets. If they could get to the shore she could -

Hot, searing pain streaked across her thigh.

Bubbles streamed from her mouth; the water stole her scream. Hugging Levi against her side, she clutched at her leg. It was on fire. The water turned them round again, and then Levi was drifting, slipping out of her grasp. Forgetting her leg, she lurched, fingers digging into his shirt, forcefully dragging him back.

They spun, and her head buzzed, thoughts turning fuzzy with pain. Breaching the surface, they bobbed once, twice, and sank - before the water propelled them up once more.

Explosions faded to distant pops as the time between gunshots lengthened. Eventually, they silenced. The slopes leading down to the water had turned steep and rocky. Between them, the river quickened.

Dizzy, Hanji noted the geographic changes with a vague and distant understanding. Foaming water crashed, breaking against rocks and boulders which now protruded from the water; they slipped between them, narrowly avoiding being crushed against stone. Around them, the river frothed like a rabid beast, and the very water seemed to vibrate and moan. From ahead, a thunderous rumble cut the air. It wasn’t until they were nearly upon it that she saw the edge.

 _Shit_ , was the thought she managed as they were flung forward and then -

down

down

down

down-

into mist and water and stone.

.

.

.

Consciousness was fragile and fleeting. It was the drizzle of rain, prickling her cheeks and nose. It was darkness and the gentle sway of water at her back. It was the wet, rotting log that brushed her arm, and the sick, sinking feeling that she’d forgotten something. Something which she desperately needed to remember.

Then, consciousness was abrupt.

Gasping, she jerked up, flailing in the water.

The river had calmed.

It stretched between green banks, serene and still, reflecting the rusted hues of dusk. Distant, was the waterfall’s low roar. 

Her head was fuzzy and her thoughts slow. Her leg pulsed, aching with a deep, stinging pain - but it wasn’t an immediate priority, because...her thoughts slowed, stalling - because -

Oh god-

Levi.

Hanji splashed, roughly treading water as she twisted, desperately scanning the river - then the darkening shores. Heart in her throat, she splashed another rough circle.

If they were floating at the same rate - which they should have been, roughly - Levi should be nearby, she reasoned, her thoughts moving at a frantic, desperate speed.

But he’d been unconscious. He could have gone under, hit a rock, gotten caught beneath the waterfall -

Terror gave her energy to swim to one shore and then back towards the other, squinting her good eye against the drizzle, scanning black water. Awkwardly kicking with one leg, she was nearly back to the far shore when a shadow caught her attention. It floated beneath a low lying tree, limply bobbing in the water.

Hanji surged through the shallows. Splashing and kicking, she shoved dry branches aside and reached out, closing her fist around drenched fabric. She drew him out, pulling slowly then all at once when the branches gave in and released their tentative hold.

The soft, sunken space beneath his eyes was bruised a deep blue, and the gash that rent his skin from brow to chin was clotted and dark. Dry, crusted blood stained the cracks in his lips and the creases around his nose, but the surrounding skin was pale. The river had rinsed him clean.

He was so very still.

Holding his limp form against her side, she paddled them to shore. As her boots brushed river rocks, she rose - and collapsed, sinking back into the water. The gash in her thigh wept red.

Right. She’d been shot. The realization was a sobering one, but not yet her first priority. 

Unsteady, she paddled a few feet further, until she crouched on a bed of pebbles, water pooling around her.

Her glasses had been lost to the river, and so, bracing her hands on smooth stones, she squinted, pulling Levi to her. Her clothes draped heavy and uncomfortable against skin that felt chafed thin. Sodden and tangled, her hair fell over her shoulders; and from the loose strands, water dripped, falling like tears over his pale face.

Hanji was familiar with death. She’d seen it, heard it, felt it.

She was a soldier. Levi was too. They’d both prepared for this eventuality.

And yet-

Her fingers clenched around the rough material of his cloak, water trickling from where she squeezed.

His chest was utterly devoid of movement.

It seemed impossible - that he could survive Zeke’s battering, only to succumb to this.

“No,” she muttered, voice low and hoarse. “Come on, Levi-” her throat constricted, and she distantly wondered if something in her might have broken.

She pulled him against her, free hand pressing against his cheek, then cupping beneath his jaw. Fingers shaking, she felt for a pulse. Her hands were numb, and it was difficult to feel - but he was so quiet; so horribly still.

She was whispering, pressing numbed hands on either side of his face, “Come on, Levi. God, you asshole. Don’t do this. _Please_. Please don’t-” her voice cracked and she stopped, dipping her head and clenching her teeth.

When she sat up, her shoulders were trembling.

“ _Damn it_ ” she hissed, shaking him. “ _Damn you_. Don’t you - don’t you dare. Don’t -  _don’t_... leave me alone.” Her voice broke on the final word.

She hunched, deflating, and clenched and unclenched her hands over his shirt, over his frozen chest. Sinking down, she braced her head against him. Her breath hitched, “ _Fuck_.”

And then it was silent - save for her short, shallow gasps and the sigh of river water over stone.

The deep rasp which came next seemed, by comparison, absurdly loud. She felt it before she heard it, a low rumble from a battered chest.

“Don’t fucking  _cry_.”

She jerked upright.

“ _Levi._ ”

His good eye was squinted open, watching her. The cracked skin at his lips had reopened, and when he frowned, red blood pebbled and dripped.

She dragged him up into a rough, wet hug.

“Gah,” he wheezed, coughing, “Hanji -  _god_ \- my fucking _ribs_ -”

Kneeling over him, she was quick to lower him down, bracing her hand in shallow water. Turning her head, she blinked back the tears that swam in her vision - because  _damn it,_  now she really was going to cry.

Levi blinked up, his gray eye abnormally dark in the fading light, and rasped, “You called me an asshole.”

“I did,” she said, sniffing, and then laughed at the sheer absurdity of, well - everything. Because it was cold and she couldn’t properly  _think,_ and she hadn’t cried like this since Moblit and Erwin. And because the asshole beneath her had been hit point blank with a thunderspear and survived.

“I meant it too,” she said, and balanced on one hand, roughly scrubbing tear tracks from her face.

The side of his lips twitched, and he winced.

His pain was a reminder; they couldn’t stay here.

“We’ve got to move,” she said and, with a pained hiss, forced herself up.

“I’m beat to shit, Hanji,” he said, attempting to lift his head. Closing his eyes, he dropped back to the water with a low moan. “Fuck.”

Pressing a hand over his shoulder, she bade him to be still.

Tearing the inner lining from her jacket, she wrapped it once around her leg; then, gritting her teeth, she yanked the fabric into a tight knot. The wound responded, an agonizing pulse, and she bit back a curse. The injury was deep, but it didn’t look as though the bullet had lodged in the muscle. Probably only a graze. A more permanent fix could wait.

Pressing her weight onto her good leg, she grabbed Levi’s arm. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath - she pulled.

Swaying on his feet, he sucked sharp breaths through gritted teeth as she maneuvered him against her side. Lifting his arm over her shoulder, she stumbled once, but found her feet before they could fall back into water.

“Hey,” Levi muttered, head dipping against her shoulder. “You’re hurt. Where?”

“....a paper-cut compared to all you’ve got going on over there.”

He frowned, but managed little more than a grunt in reply. His eyes were closed. Lips pale, he leaned into her.

“Hey,” she said, nudging him with her hip. “Stay with me. That’s an order.”

When he didn’t answer, she wrapped an arm around him, squeezing. “ _Levi._ ”

He started, then sank back against her side. “Not going anywhere, Four-Eyes,” he muttered, cheek pressing into her shoulder.

Reaching up, she grabbed the mangled hand draped around her neck and gave it a squeeze. “Four-eyes, huh?” she said, finding her balance. “Been a while since I’ve heard that one.”

When he didn’t respond, she tightened her hold on his hand - and got a light squeeze in return.

 _Okay_ , she thought. They could do this.

Looking up, she measured the distance from the shore to the grassy slope beyond; and then from the grass to the distant shelter of trees. 

Gritting her teeth, she lifted Levi - and took the first step.


	3. Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is getting longer than I originally intended...

Wakefulness was swaying branches overhead, glaring glimpses of sun flickering between; a rock pressing against the small of his back; wind - cold against wet clothes. But mostly, it was abrupt, unyielding pain.

The pain had spread, a conflagration throughout his torso and limbs. Just as fire attacks a a forest in summer, agony consumed him. And like a fire gone wild, it spread wide, indiscriminate in its destruction. In some places, the pain was a smoldering ache, distracting, but manageable. In others, it was an inferno, white hot and blistering, intense enough to crack bones and melt skin.

He made a noise - how could he not? - and shifted into unwilling wakefulness with a ragged gasp.

Instantly, hands were upon him. He flinched back and -

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay, Levi.”

The low, even voice was a balm stronger than cool cloths or salves, and he sank back, surrendering his trust with an instinctual ease.

By and large, Levi thought the world to be a fickle bitch; however, there were some truths he’d never question.

The last week of winter is objectively the coldest. Cleanliness will stave off illness, even during the summer influenza. Everyone is selfish, in some way or another. And Hanji was to be trusted.

That Hanji was here, meant he was safe. It was a truth simple and straightforward as breathing.

And so he drifted.

He woke once, bleary-eyed and blinking into glaringly bright afternoon light. Hanji knelt over him, holding a nettle-leaved plant in her hands. Her tongue pressed between her lips as she stripped the plant of its green stem. Milky white sap ran over her fingers.

Then cool hands were running up his neck, over his throbbing cheek. He closed his eyes as careful fingers massaged the salve into still burning wounds. Pain ebbed and faded.

He sighed, sinking.

When he next opened his eyes, it was dark. Stars flickered above, and the moon was swollen and round; its pale glow painted the forest white. He was in a shallow ravine, beneath a tree and partially concealed by leafy bushes.

At his side, a shadow knelt, head bowed and shoulders drooping.

His wounds ached with a deep throbbing pressure, and his body felt sweaty and warm. He tried to swallow, but his throat was raw and dry. When he spoke, his voice emerged, little more than a whisper.

_“Hey.”_

The shadow startled, jerking awake. And then she was leaning over him, hand pressing over his chest, then his forehead.

“Finally,” she whispered, voice soft with relief.

Her hand brushed over his forehead again, and he realized her palm was clammy where it pressed against him.

He frowned. “Hanji-”

“Rest,” she said, quiet and commanding. “You’ve got a fever. I’m worried infection’s setting into your wounds. You’ll need your strength.”

“M’fine.”

“Sure you are.”

Dry leaves crackled and crunched as she shifted closer. Warm fingers brushed over his head, carding through his hair.  “Sleep, Levi.”

He didn’t want to. Hanji was hunched, moonlight playing about her dark, tangled hair like a halo. Her face, however, was in shadow.

Something was -

His thoughts slowed, mind fogging with fever.

 _Something was wrong_ , he finally managed. His instincts screamed it.

“Are you-”

“It’s okay, Levi. Rest.”

He swallowed, thoughts sluggishly circling.

“The Yeagerists?” he at last managed.

Silence stretched long and thin before she finally answered. “They’re out there. Searching. A few of them, at least.” A gentle touch to his head. “I’ll keep watch.”

His body gave another pulse of pain, and the fingers threading through his hair worked to lull his already exhausted body. Again, he drifted, sinking back into oblivion’s loveless arms.

When dawn broke, he burned.

The lacerations covering his body were hot and painful, and his head felt stuffy and full. Even in his addled state, he knew it was bad. Infection had set into the  wounds.

Levi turned his head, squinting past rosy light.

She wasn’t far.

Hanji was bent, braced against the nearest tree. Her jacket was gone, and discarded nettle-leafed plants littered the ground around her. With an unsteady hand, she massaged a pale cream into her leg. Between splayed fingers, he caught sight of a red, weeping wound. Even from a distance, he could see the injury was puckered and the surrounding skin was inflamed. Slowly, painstakingly, she wrapped a sodden cloth back around the wound, concealing it from view.

She straightened when she saw he was awake and watching.

“Levi.” Her returning steps were deliberate, limp neatly disguised and pain hidden. She couldn’t, however, hide her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes, glassy and bright.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his arm into motion. When he reached out, grasping clumsily at her arm, he realized what had happened to her jacket. It’s pieces were wrapped around him, the bandages covering his body. Two small, bloody patches of fabric wrapped the stumps that remained of his middle and index fingers.

His remaining fingers weakly grasped at her. 

“ _Hanji_ ,” he said, accusing.

Looking down at him, she heaved a breath. Without her glasses and eyepatch, her face seemed bare.

“Our wounds are infected. Likely from the river water,” she said, and added, matter-of-fact, “Out here, I have nothing to stave off the infections. Without antibiotics, I doubt we’ll be able to fight them long.”

Hanji wasn’t one to dance around the truth. He’d always appreciated that about her.

“Okay,” he said, rasping in defiance of the quiet morning. “You go then. Get help for yourself. Come back for me.”

She’d have to leave him. He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten him this far, exhausted an injured, but there was no way she’d be able to carry him now.

His strength was returning, but his body was battered and thoroughly beaten, and a return to health would be slow. The fever was a further complication.

To have any chance of escape, she’d have to go alone.

She was watching him, bloodied fingers picking at a tear in her pants. Licking her lips, she frowned.

And he had an idea then, what the next words out of her mouth would be.

“No.”

“The Yaegerists are out there, Levi. Still looking for us. I know at least one of them is carrying a med kit.”

Levi’s head pounded, and he was concerned by how difficult he was finding it to concentrate. “And how the fuck do you plan on getting it from them? Asking nicely?”

Pressing her lips together, she glanced away. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he rasped, insistent, “The safest plan is to go for help. You fucking know that.”

“ _The safest plan for me_ , you mean,” she said, voice hard. “I don’t think you can afford to wait as long as it could take me to get back.”

She was fidgeting, hands pressing over the dirt, fingertips brushing his inflamed sides.

She was going to do this, he realized.  _She was going to do this,_  and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to stop her.

“You promised. You fucking promised me,” it spilled out of him - and  _shit_ his skin felt like it was burning.

“Levi-”

“You fucking _swore_ -”

“I know, Levi, just-”

“No, you said - you fucking said-,”

“I-”

“ _Hanji_. You fucking promised me you’d survive.”

Far above them, a bird woke with a tentative, warbling whistle.

Finally, “I promised to try.”

“You’re the commander. The  _last_  commander.”

A rough shake of the head. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “There’s a line of succession.”

“ _The last commander I give a shit about_.” His throat was aching, raw.

She looked up, lifting her eyes. One, a deep, dark brown, and the other, pale and clouded. Decision was written in her gaze.

She said, “I won’t leave you here to die.”

His wounds pulsed, agonizing. Clenching his jaw, he tipped his head back. His thoughts swam. He was vaguely aware of movement.

“ _Hanji._ ”

He threw his hand out. Fingers scrabbling, he felt fabric, then skin. His skin felt too hot for his body and his thoughts were descending into a chaotic tumble. He strained to focus them.

“Hanji,” he tried, starting again. He cracked an eye, and the world spun. “Don’t be a shithead.”

“You’ll need to stay still. Make as little noise as possible,” she said, voice going flat and practical. “I’ll hopefully return within an hour. Maybe two. And,” she hesitated, “If I don’t return by dusk, use half the night to save up your strength. Then you’ll need to get up. See if you can make it to the closest village. Due north.”

She was moving - rising.

Something was pounding in him, a relentless wailing panic that filled his bones. He’d lived this story before. It’s ending was rain and blood, bodies broken beneath towering trees, a scorched rooftop - and always,  _always_ pain.

“ _Wait_ , Hanji -fucking-” his broken, damaged hand pawed the air. He forced his eyes open, ignoring the stinging burn, and caught her hand in a weak grip. “ _Don’t_.”

His chest heaved, and fucking shit, it was evidently possible for every bone in your body to hurt at once.

Her hand brushed his jaw, then over his cheek, a cool, cradling touch. When she spoke, he felt her breath, soft against his skin. “You understand then, why I won’t run away. Why I can’t leave you here to die.”

The fever was taking him, sliding his weakened body back to its sickly, cloying depths.

He fought to open his eyes, and saw her blurry, fading face.

He said her name - or maybe he only thought it.

Darkness claimed him, and he drifted. The last thing he felt was a feathersoft touch against his lips.


	4. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 4 of the A Simple Choice series which is by now completely out of hand, and I simultaneously love and hate it.

She’d gotten sick as a child. A plague, they’d called it; from the inner cities to the countryside villages, few within the walls had been spared.

Hanji had laid in a cot, scratchy blankets irritating her over-sensitive skin. Fading in and out of consciousness, she’d been vaguely aware of a small child in the cot beside hers. A woman, gaunt and skeletal had knelt over the girl, who was younger even than Hanji, hand clutching at pudgy, overheated fingers.

In the throes of fever, she’d awoken once to see the woman had climbed in the neighboring cot. Where gaunt fingers frantically grasped at the child, Hanji noted a change. The girl was pale, quiet, and still. Hanji had blinked, eyelids hot, and watched, uncomprehending, as the woman rocked, crying, cradling the girl. A nurse’s gentle but persistent hands were trying to pull the child from her arms and words like _still contagious_ and _beds needed_ and _she’s gone_ speared the space between them.

The woman’s eyes were wild, rolling and she laughed, tears rolling from her eyes. “Life is pain,” she’d hissed, holding tight to her. Hunching, she’d moaned, pressing her lips to feathersoft hair. “Oh my girl, my girl.  _Love is pain._ ”

Hanji staggered, listing as she rose. Leaves crunched beneath her boots. The forest canopy swayed above her. The woman’s voice, which Hanji had forgotten years ago, returned to her now, like a specter.

_Love is pain._

Levi, frail and broken, lay on a bed of twigs and leaves. His mutilated hand was extended, stretching toward where she’d knelt. His eyelids twitched, eyes rolling behind them, and he heaved a tortured breath,  _“Please-”_

She abruptly turned, stumbling and catching herself on a tree. Forcefully ignoring the pained noises at her back, she gritted her teeth, and shoved forward. They needed a medical kit, and now that fever had set in - for both of them - she had little time left to steal it. Distractions were a luxury they could little afford.

Not if they were to both survive this.

She shouldn’t have waited so long, truly. But he’d been in such a precarious state. Toeing the precipice between life and death, as he was, she’d been reluctant to leave him. And now, though his wounds were mending - at an accelerated rate at that - infection festered within him. Within them both.

Ultimately, she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him dying alone.

Now, they very well might both might die alone regardless.

Bracing against the nearest tree, she closed her eyes and tried to think.

Through the night, she’d listened to the Yeagerists’ movements, growing closer, then more distant, then closer again. They’d spread out, combing the forest. If she’d heard them repeatedly through the night, it either meant they were circling - or they were alternating their search parties. Either way, it meant they must have erected at least a temporary base nearby.

The question was, whether they were still here. Or even still searching.

She and Levi were undoubtedly valuable targets, but the Yeagerists wouldn’t search forever. Eventually, they would consider them lost - to the river or the forest. It was the pinnacle of irony that after a long night of wishing them gone, she’d come to need their presence - at least for a little longer. Long enough to steal medical supplies from a soldier.

Pushing off the tree, Hanji forged on, walking East.

It was unlikely they’d set up a secondary camp much beyond the waterfall. They wouldn’t have any idea how far they’d gone downstream, and would likely start searching the riverbanks and forest just beneath the falls.

Boots dragging in the dirt, she walked. She reached out, trailing her fingers against the rough bark of the trees she passed, a grounding touch. Above, the sky was clear, effortlessly blue. From somewhere nearby, a bird was warbling, though she could hardly hear it. The heat that gathered at her thigh, collecting and coalescing in a white hot fever behind her temples, seemed determined to drag her back to the one other time she’d been sick as this.

Her boots scuffed against dirt and stone, but against her skin, she felt rough sheets. At her ears, the low, mournful cries of a grieving mother.

_My girl, my girl. Love is pain._

For a long moment, she lost herself. And then her boot struck a log.

Palms against rough bark, she blinked, straining for focus.

She didn’t hear the crunch of army boots on leaves. She did however, hear the rough voice which called out.

“Hey - wait a second - you! Don’t move!”

Hanji, tilting her head back, blew a strand of dirty, matted hair out of her face and glared. “Do I look capable of moving, soldier?” she said, speaking low and with an authority she did not currently possess.

Nonetheless, she watched the Yeagerist’s blurry form slow, hesitating.

He was alone, or he at least appeared to be. But he very well might have companions who’d spread out while searching.

More importantly, clipped to his backpack was a black case. A standard issue medical kit.

“Where’s Levi Ackerman?”

“Dead,” she answered, and it wasn’t difficult to speak with anger. To show it on her face. They’d nearly killed him, after all. They still might.

“You’ve said that before.”

“He might have been then, too. But this time I know. I lost him to the river.”

The soldier was watching her. From his build, she guessed he was one of the younger ones. The gun he’d raised was trained upon her.

Time for a new strategy, then.

She collapsed.

Falling wasn’t difficult. It was more a matter of letting go. Fingers slipping from the log, she tipped back, sprawling in the dirt. Her leg throbbed. She could feel fresh blood soaking into the fabric of her pants. The wrappings must already be soaked through.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then boots pounded against dirt. He knelt before her, blocking the treetops which had begun to spin. And  _god_ , maybe she’d lost more blood than she thought.

Above her, the soldier cursed beneath his breath. Up close, his features were distinguishable. A long face. Not as young as he’d seemed from afar, but still round at the cheeks. His light hair was trimmed short and freckles splattered his face from forehead to chin.

He dragged the medical kit off his pack and pried it open. When he grabbed her leg, she flinched back -  then cool liquid struck the wound. She gasped, twisting away from the burn. Liquid antiseptic, she realized, when the sharp, sterile odor reached her nose. Next, he was pulling out fresh linen bandages, re-wrapping the wound.

“...needs stitches, but that’ll have to wait.”

“Why...all this?” Hanji managed.

The soldier secured the bandage and looked up, “You’re our prisoner. Our orders aren’t to kill you.”

Hanji wondered if there was an implied  _yet_ at the end of that sentence.

“And Levi?”

“...the Ackerman is a different matter.”

Of course he was. Hanji closed her eyes, exhausted. When she opened them, he was readying a syringe. A syringe like -

She surged up. The hand at her leg moved to her chest, pushing her back. She twisted, clawing at dirt, kicking as she struggled to rise. Weakened by blood loss, she couldn’t escape his grasp.

“Hey - relax! It’s antibiotics! Just antibiotics!”

Chest heaving, she squinted up. He’d set the syringe aside and was waving a bottle of clear, sloshing liquid. She read the label. Bacitracin, chloramphenicol, neomycin sulfate.

Antibiotics.

Heaving a breath, she sank back.

She barely felt the needle sink into her thigh.

“How long does it take to work?”

“Within the day, is my guess.”

“...your guess?”

He shrugged, “This stuff is emergency first aid. I’m no doctor,” and turned to begin packing the equipment back in the case.

His back was to her.

She sat up.

The dagger slipped noiselessly from her boot - as noiselessly as it had slipped from Levi’s when she’d taken it the evening before.

Bracing her uninjured leg beneath her, she slowly, carefully rose.

By the time he saw her, she was already surging up. The blade pressed against his neck. His hand, outstretched toward the gun he’d perched against a tree, froze.

Hanji, crouching behind him, braced a knee against the back of this bent legs as she clutched at his shoulder with her free hand.

“Easy.  _Easy_. What’s your name?” she asked, conversationally, the edge of the blade pressing against his jugular.

“Christopher,” he said, and swallowed.

“Christopher, good,” she said, and adjusted her grip on the blade. “You helped me out. Thank you for that. Understand, I don’t want to kill you if I can avoid it. But you’ll have to cooperate. Can you do that Christopher?”

He swallowed again. “What do you want?”

“Your med kit. And your silence.”

He sucked in a breath.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“Don’t give me more reason to kill you, Christopher,” Hanji said, reiterating her threat with the press of cool metal against skin. A thin line of blood welled up atop the blade.

Christopher shivered and closed his eyes. “Okay. The med kit. Take it.”

“Once you’re tied up and gagged.”

“I’ll cooperate.”

“Good. Now, I need you to remove both shoes and then your socks. Roll the socks together in a bundle. You’ll need to do all of this very slowly, and very carefully. Move the wrong way, and this blade is going in your neck.”

He nodded, a slight jerk of the chin.

Slowly, she lifted her weight off his legs.

Without looking down, he removed his shoes. The socks came next.

“Put the socks in your mouth.”

He curled his lips, but did as he was told.

“Now your belt. Remove it.”

He did.

“Hand it to me.”

Biting one end of the leather, she wrapped it around his head with her free hand. She pulled it until the leather pressed into his skin. It sank into his open mouth, holding the makeshift gag in place.

“Not elegant,” she muttered around the leather in her mouth. She secured it with a fold and a tuck and shifted back. “But it’ll do.”

The soldier managed a muffled groan.

“I’m removing your suspenders next. Don’t move.”

Careful not to press the knife any harder against his neck, she wrested the suspenders from him.

“Hands behind your back.

As he shifted his arms behind him, a thought occurred to her - a detail that, perhaps, might be a slight stumbling block for this plan.

“Say Christopher, can you swim? Or rather, how well do you float?”

She intended to send him downriver tied up and blindfolded, not drown him.

Christopher, eyes wide, looked from her, to the wide river than ran beyond the trees.

Throwing his head back, he caught her off guard.

The back of his skull struck her forehead. Head ringing with the blow, she swayed back - fingers automatically releasing the blade that had begun to sink into his neck. And then Christopher was up, swinging a fist. She jumped back - too slow. His knuckles pounded into the newly wrapped wound.

Agony.

She shouted as the leg gave way beneath her.

His bare foot stomped down and she rolled, barely avoiding his heel. When he kicked at her side, she caught his foot and yanked. He hit the ground, heaving as the wind was knocked from his chest. Hanji rolled, rising - but her leg made her slow. Christopher was faster.

He struck her and they slid over leaves and dirt.

He was on top of her, knees boxing her in. She struck up, driving her thumb into the soft flesh between jaw and neck. He cried out, voice still muffled by the gag, and caught her wrist in hand. And then his other hand was around her neck, fingers pressing up beneath her jaw.

First, pain and tightness in her neck - and then pressure building, a buzzing in her head. She gasped, chest heaving, lungs burning. She bucked and kicked, but he was settled atop her. Her free hand slapped at his face, nails digging at his cheeks, his eyes, but she was growing uncoordinated.

Head abuzz, she managed slow, confused calculations.

She had less than a minute of consciousness, of that she was sure. And after that, he’d either let up, or he’d continue strangling her, until cardiac arrest or she fell brain dead. In other words, death.

Her hand dragged at his ear, another weak point, but she was losing strength and couldn’t apply enough force.

Looking up, she stared into his pale blue gaze. His thick brows were curved together and his pupils were blown wide. White teeth pressed together. Lips apart, he bared them in a snarl.

 _Christopher was much less cooperative than expected_ , was her last dizzy thought before her head lolled to the side.

And there it was. Hidden in the grass, the cool silver of a dagger. Levi’s dagger.

_Levi._

He’d wait for her. Come nightfall, he’d have to go - try to make it to the nearest village. Feverish. Alone.

And then horribly, the weeping woman was in her ear and -

Hanji’s throat spasmed. Colors flashed behind her eyes. Her head felt like a balloon ready to pop. Shaking fingers crept across dirt and grass.

The dagger; like ice in her hand.

The world dimmed and darkened. A cacophonous whining filled her ears, interrupted only by -

weeping;   _love is pain - love is pain - love is-_

The soft press of a blade into flesh.

Warmth seeped into her shirt.

The grip on her neck slackened, then disappeared.

Lips gaping, she sucked in desperate, gasping breaths. Blinking, the darkness faded from her vision.

The soldier - Christopher - swayed on his knees. One hand pressed against his gut. Blood seeped between his fingers. It spilled down his front, soaking her shirt in red.

When she scrambled back, he tipped, falling sideways into the dirt.

She kicked the dagger out of grabbing range, and then knelt beside him. Tearing his shirt off, she balled it up, pressing the fabric into the wound. He screamed behind the gag.

Grabbing the discarded suspenders, she wrapped them around his torso and tied a tight knot, securing the compress against his side. Lifting beneath his arms, she dragged him aside and propped him up against a tree. There, she checked to ensure the compress was still secure.

The soldier’s chest heaved. He was pale. Wide blue eyes stared up at her. They’d gone glassy with fear.

Hanji’s leg protested as she bent down, crouching before him. Bracing a bloodied hand on his shoulder, she leaned in. From her abused throat, her voice emerged, a dark rasp. “Listen closely to what I have to say, Christopher. Your life depends on it.”

A low, whining noise sounded behind the gag.

“Listen. Listen. Move and you will bleed out. Get up and try to walk, and you will bleed out within minutes. Your only chance of survival is to sit here, stay as calm and still as you are able, and pray your comrades find you in time.”

The soldier was trembling. Leaning forward, he made frantic noises behind his gag.

Hanji swallowed. Clearing her throat, she managed to keep her voice even.

“I cannot stay to aid you. And I cannot summon aid for you. If your companions find me, it will mean death or imprisonment for me and certain death for  _my_ companion. The best I can offer you is this: stay still. Breathe slowly.”

The soldier’s eyes watered. He sucked in a slow, deep breath through his nose.

“Good. That’s good.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Also,” she added, staring into his eyes. “If your companions find you, they will need to act quickly. There will not be much time to save your life. Tell them Levi Ackerman is in this forest, and your life may no longer be their first priority. Think about that.”

Blue eyes met hers, then closed. Tears rolled down round cheeks.

“Remember, slow breaths Christopher,” she said, and rose.

Stomach sick and churning, she turned away from him. With limping steps, she grabbed the dagger first, not bothering to wash it before shoving it back into the sheath within her boot. The medical kit was next, and she swayed as she lifted it at her side. Pressing a hand to her wound, she felt the bandages. Damp, but not soaked through. She should be okay to walk.

She left, slowly limping through the trees, and despite her resolve not to, she glanced back once. Christopher leaned against the tree, eyes closed and head bent.

The journey back was twice as long. She had to stop several times to rest - and to make sure she wasn’t leaving a trail of blood for trackers to follow. Just in case, she waded across the river twice to make following more difficult.

When she finally stumbled, injured leg dragging, back to the shallow ravine, it was nearly nightfall.

And -

Levi was gone.

The med kit slipped from her fingers, and she twisted, scouring the clearing. He couldn’t have -

Had the Yeagerists found him? Could they have passed her somehow? Of course they could have. The forest was huge. But if their aim was to kill him, would they have moved him for that?

No. He’d be dead. Here.

Maybe he’d wandered off. If that was the case, how far could he have gotten? And _oh god_ , the fever could have made him feel as though he were unbearably thirsty. It very well might have driven him to the water. What if he’d fallen in?

Bracing a hand against her thigh, she turned, taking heaving steps toward the waterline.

Halfway there, she glimpsed a dark shape out of the corner of her eye.

She dropped, grabbing for the dagger.

_“Hanji.”_

His voice was thin and sharp - both anxious and relieved.

Abandoning the dagger, she was up in a second.

Pale fingers clutching at the closest tree, he swayed where he stood. Levi, with dark shadows under his eyes and sweat at his brow, stared toward her.

She stared back, relief fleeing in the wake of incredulity.

“What the hell are you doing  _walking around_ , Levi?” She hissed.

At once, he was sullen and silent.

She waited.

Narrowing his eyes, he opened his mouth - and closed it. Glancing away, he frowned and sighed. “Just trying to make sure you hadn’t gone and fucking died.”

“Well you didn’t get very far, did you?”

He scowled. “...needed a few breaks.”

“And what about my plan? Saving your energy? Leaving at nightfall if I didn’t return?”

“You’re the biggest fucking hypocrite if after all this, you expected me to actually go through with that.”

Tilting her head back, Hanji pressed a hand to her forehead.  _God_ \- he was so stubborn -  _and also falling. Shit._

She dove for him, heedless of her injured leg.

Levi listed sideways, dropping like a sack of stones.

Arms extended, her knees struck the ground as she slid beneath him. She caught him inches from the ground.

 _“Fucking Maria, Sina, and Rose_ -” she hissed, cradling his head. “You  _idiot._ ”

“Hey,” he muttered, “That’s my line.”

“Yeah, well today it’s mine.”

By the time she managed to drag him back to the shallow ravine, the sun had set, and the sky was flushed pink.

She’d braced his arm over her shoulder again, and wrapping an arm around his side, walked an unsteady path down the slope. They were nearly to the makeshift bed of leaves when Levi’s foot caught on a rock.

She felt him tipping - falling. Throwing her weight back, she tried to catch him - but her boots slipped on fallen leaves. They went down, Levi - then Hanji. Holding him, she had the presence of mind to throw her hands behind his head the instant before they struck the ground - Levi first, and Hanji on top of him.

His head struck her hands instead of the ground, and as she went down, she threw her knees out, determined not to fall with all of her weight atop him. When agony pulsed through her bad leg, however, she dropped onto him all the same.

Beneath her, Levi groaned.

“You alright?” she asked, automatically feeling for blood at the back of his head.

“Think so. You?”

“I’m fine,” she said, ignoring the pulsing ache in her thigh. First, Levi’s wounds. She, at least, had her first dose of antibiotics. With that in mind, she pushed herself up so that she was kneeling over him. Fortunately, she’d dropped the med kit nearby. Bracing a hand in the dirt beside his head, she reached to grab it.

“ _Hanji_.” Levi spoke, low and horrified.

The terror in his voice was such that she instinctively froze. Fingers tightening over the med kit, she turned her head, scanning with her peripherals for the invisible threat.

A light touch to her stomach dragged her attention back.

Levi’s hand pressed against her, against the blood - still damp - which stained her shirt. His other hand reached out, grasping for the med kit she currently held.

“Hanji. Med kit. _Now_.” His voice was hoarse. Eyes, fever-bright.

“The blood….it’s not mine, Levi.”

His brow, damp with sweat, furrowed. And then both hands were back to the shirt. Uncoordinated fingers hitched it up, as if he needed to see for himself. Burned fingertips traced her skin, and she closed her eyes at the soft touch.

“Levi-”

His hand shifted, fingers brushing over her belly button, tracing old, puckered scars, and finally, feeling the bloodstained skin on her other side. There were, of course, no injuries there either.

“See?”

He didn’t answer.

Letting her shirt fall back, he lifted his bandaged hand to her collarbone - and then her neck. It was a delicate touch that followed, hesitant and tracing.

She was confused, until she realized the bruises must already be showing.

“Who?”

A simple question. It’s tone, however, carried additional weight. A promise of pain.

“You don’t know them, Levi.” Hanji answered, dry. “Come on - I need to get you something for that fever.”

Gaze heavy, he traced the violent imprint of thumbs and fingers beneath her jaw.

“The Yeagerist I stole the med kit from wasn’t as cooperative as I would have liked.”

“Was it-“

“A bit of a closer call than I would have liked, yeah,” she admitted.

He closed his eyes, and she knew the visions that were playing behind them - of  decisions and regrets and promises left unkept.

His reply was hoarse, aching. “ _Hanji_ -“

My girl, my girl. Love is pain.

“It worked out.”

“This time.”

It was true. There would always be a next time. A next time which might not be so gracious.

Leaning over him, Hanji brushed a hand over his sweat drenched brow. First, antibiotics. As she reached for the kit, she watched his chest rise and fall. Slow, steady breaths.

His hand, though broken and bloody, was still at her throat. His eyes were closed, but his fingers traced her battered skin, as if attempting to, with a gentle touch, erase the incomprehensible violence done against it.

Love was pain - the poor woman wasn’t wrong. But everything was pain, eventually. That was the nature of endings, Hanji thought. A facet of life.

Beneath her, Levi lay, weakened and flushed, his skin burned and scarring. One eye squinted open, fighting against exhaustion, watching her in the dying light. Gentle, determined fingers traced her skin.

But love was many things.

It was patience.

Kindness.

Hope.

A gentle touch.

Dragging the kit closer, she abandoned it to press her hands on either side of his face. He stilled at the touch.

“This time, yes. And let’s be glad for it. Next time, hopefully, we’ll be lucky again.”

And as she prepared the antibiotics, his squinting eye fluttered and closed. He heaved a weary breath.

He was silent as she worked on him, administering antibiotics and wrapping his wounds in fresh bandages. Last, was the kit’s emergency water ration. Carefully lifting his head, she let a trickle of water slide down his parched throat.

Beneath the canteen, his lips moved. “No one’s lucky forever.”

“No,” she paused, recapping the water. “But this time we were. And for now, we’re alright. I think that has to be enough.”

In the fading light, his eyes searched hers. He seemed lost, and he was looking at her as if she were the compass that might point him toward - well, toward what, she didn’t know.

“What if ‘for now’ isn’t enough anymore? Maybe I’m a greedy bastard.”

“You’re many things, neat-freak,” she said, the strangeness of the conversation driving her to return to the comfort of old nicknames. “Greedy isn’t one of them.”

For a long moment, he paused. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, uncommonly vulnerable.

“...I’m afraid, Hanji. Of being selfish.”

“You’ve never been-”

“But maybe I fucking _want to be_.”

Night had fallen. The moon, a pale sliver on the horizon, was only just rising. Tucked as they were, in the darkness of the ravine, it was nearly impossible to read his face. He was feverish still, the antibiotics and fever reducers wouldn’t have time to take effect - but these didn’t seem like fever ravings. Levi was truly upset. The events of the day - likely the last few days, had shaken him. And why wouldn’t they? Despite what some of the Yeagerists seemed to think, he wasn’t a machine. He wasn’t invincible. Not even nearly so.

Shifting closer, she found his arm in the dark - and squeezed.

“...no one said you can’t want things for yourself, Levi. You’re human as the rest of us.”

In the dark, her answer was a slow, shuddering breath.

And then - “Fuck. Come here.”

“...what?”

Wincing, he scooted over, making room on the bed of leaves. “You need to sleep too.”

“I’m going to keep watch, Levi. It’s not safe.”

“There’s no fucking way you can stay up for a second night in a row-”

Hanji opened her mouth ready to argue she’d done exactly that plenty of times before.

“And stop, I know you’ve done it before. But you’re injured, and-” He hesitated. “I want to be selfish.”

“Levi…”

“Hanji, just tonight. Let me be a fucking selfish bastard.”

Well. She’d laid some traps the first day anyway. Really, Levi was fortunate not to have tripped any of them in his hairbrained attempt to follow after her.

When she lowered herself down beside him, he shifted, making room. The leaves weren’t exactly soft - but they were a slight improvement on the ground. Rolling on her side, she took the weight off her injured leg.

For a moment, it was silent, save for their quiet breaths and the mournful notes of crickets in the dark.

Then, shuffling movement.

“Here,” Levi muttered. An arm slipped underneath her head.

He was warm, and she rolled closer without giving it much thought. They certainly didn’t make a habit of  _cuddling_ , but a warm body was a warm body. And...there was a certain comfort in having him close. When his other arm wrapped around her, she pressed forward, tucking her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. This close, she could feel his every breath - hear the slow, regular beat of his heart. A tenseness she’d been carrying for days, finally,  _finally_ relaxed.

Still - “You’re too injured to be sleeping like this, Levi,” she muttered against his skin. “You should really be on your back.”

“Hanji,” he sighed into her hair, “I don’t give a fuck.”

She’d move him once he fell asleep then.

She, however, was sinking swiftly into the soft, quiet depths of sleep herself. The slow, even sounds of his breaths lulled her into a deep drowsiness.

And so she sank, slipping gently into dreams of water, and blood, and a burned finger’s gentle touch. Eventually, returned the weeping woman. Her mournful voice.

_Love is…_

_Love is…_

She awoke. The night was quiet; the moon, a white sentinel above. Before her, Levi slept. From between relaxed, parted lips, breaths like sighs. Where they touched, she was warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll probably never get anything even remotely close to a frank, meaningful conversation between them in the coming chapters, but ah well, a girl can dream.


	5. Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This mini-series is finally done! As is the case with many things I write, a small thing took on a life of it’s own, and I just kind of ran with it. Thank you all for all of the encouragement :)

To the dreamer, waking is a cruel affair.

For Levi, returning to consciousness was abrupt as it was jarring. That is, he did not muddle through the typical bleary moments where the mind decides whether or not it is going to wake; rather, like a struck match, he flared suddenly and unexpectedly into consciousness.

Strangely, he was already on his feet.

A narrow, back-country road lay ahead. Lined with wild tufts of grass, it wound a snaking path between hills and pastures. His damp, beaten boots shuffled over summer-dry dirt. A body pressed against him, and a determined hand dug into his side, hauling him forward. He didn’t need to check who. He recognized Hanji by the sway of her walk, the lithe arm winding round his back.

“...the hell?”

“Finally awake?”

“Obviously.”

“Good,” she said, lifting Levi’s arm and draping it over her shoulders. “Grab on. My arm’s getting tired.”

He did.

As she hissed, flexing her hand and stretching her arm above her head, he asked the obvious question.

“Where the hell are we?”

“You don’t remember anything?”

He frowned, watching a bead of sweat migrate a curving path from her temple to jaw.

“No,” he said, and the short word came out in the shape of a question.

“Your fever came back for a while... then the Yeagerists did too. I was able to drag you out before they found us. I walked south, found this road, and have been following it ever since.”

Levi stared at her, incredulous. That... didn’t sound right, but a latent, lingering exhaustion clung to him, preventing him from analyzing with any certainty the mechanics of their escape.

“You alright?” he finally asked.

“Alright enough to get you this far.”

He watched her, and when he couldn’t discern any evidence of injury - other than the limp from her wounded leg, he had to concede that she really was doing just fine. Better than him, anyway.

And so they walked.

The wind picked up, and the trees on either side of the road shivered, casting shifting mosaics of sunlight and shadow. And as he focused on putting one foot in front of the next, Hanji talked. For a while, she identified the flora sprouting up from the dirt on either side of the road. When she tired of that, she discussed the airship modifications that, once upon a time, had ricocheted round the cavernous space of her mind.

The farm was hidden from the road. Tucked between sloping hills and shielded by a patch of forest, it was a study in chance that they found it at all.

Hanji’s one-sided conversation had cycled back to the local flora, and she was pointing out the moss on a nearby oak, when Levi’s energy finally flagged. One foot failed to lift - and he stumbled. He folded like wet paper.

“Woah-”

Hanji caught him beneath his arms.

Limping, she dragged him off the road.

Not far off, a patch of trees huddled at the foot of a hill. Hanji headed straight for it - seeking shelter for him, he knew.

Stepping over a gurgling stream, they saw it.

Long grass, brushed golden with the summertime drought, enfolded the hills on either side. The farm existed at the center of the swaying, golden sea.

The barn, boxy and domed, stood, a humble monument between the hills. Behind it, a house, more humble still. And a distance away, a lonely shed.

If he was less injured, Levi was sure Hanji would have passed the structure by, not willing to risk the unknown of who might reside inside.

But he needed help, and she knew it.

With one arm wrapped around him, she rapped upon the farmhouse door.

Levi didn’t believe in luck. Most soldiers, however, were the superstitious sort, and so Levi had heard his fair share of mystical bullshit. Out of them all, a particular phrase was repeated, in endless variation, from the lips of squad mates.

_Luck’s not kind._

They meant, of course, that luck might favor you for days, weeks, years - right up until the moment you needed it most.

It was superstitious nonsense; and Hanji had often muttered, annoyed, about confusing correlation and causation.

Nonetheless, Levi could think of countless squad mates who would thank luck’s hand in their stumbling upon the farm.

When the door opened, and pale, sightless eyes peered out at them, Levi considered that a soldier would thank luck for this too.

The blind farmer would have little chance of identifying them as fugitives.

Furthermore, the stranger was kind. Hanji had barely finished with her fabricated story when they were welcomed inside, and wrinkled, steady hands helped Hanji patch both of them up a second time.

Luck had favored them twice, not counting their escape from the river. Most soldiers would think it unwise to count upon its intervention again.

Though luck, if it existed, seemed keen to run counter to long dead soldiers’ superstitions.

The farmer offered, in exchange for help on the farm, a place to stay. A sanctuary to rest and gather strength. 

The shed, it turned out, was not a shed at all, but a cottage. Long unused, it had been built to hold his late wife’s visiting relatives.

Even after the farmer’s aid, Levi was weak. And Hanji was reluctant to run blindly back to the chaos of the war without a solid strategy - and for that they’d need information.

And so they stayed.

 _Just for a little while_ , Hanji had said.

Hanji helped with the physical labor on the farm, while Levi - at Hanji’s vehement insistence - was limited to helping around the farmer’s home.

There was a certain satisfaction in washing sheets and blankets that had gathered dust and moths in long unopened closets, in wiping layers of grime from untouched windowsills.

The cottage wasn’t spared it’s overdue cleansing either. Limping and leaning on a rough wooden crutch, Levi stretched onto his toes, dusting cobwebs from the bedroom corners.

Time moved strangely there, in the valley.

They had to return, a distant part of him knew - to the real world and it’s insurmountable concerns. But here, those problems felt apart from them - vague, like a half-remembered dream.

In the afternoons, Hanji returned to the cottage, skin sun-loved and red. Her blouse damp with sweat, clung to her, caressing her toned shoulders and back.

Meanwhile, Levi, his crutch abandoned at the old wooden table, chopped vegetables slowly, carefully - still adapting to life without a full hand.

And before doing anything else - even taking off her shoes - she’d run warm, calloused fingers over his arm. Then, a touch to his leg, knotted with red, scarring flesh.

His healing was steady, but slow, and he’d learned that she, kinetic energy incarnate, had an almost compulsive need to track his body’s mending by touch.

And so he tossed vegetables in a pot as her exploring fingers traced his body, mapping the welts which marked his every brush with death.

Eventually, he’d make room for her at the table, and she’d dump piles of papers and books she’d borrowed from the bookshelves of the farmer’s late wife. The woman, it seemed, had an interest in the genetics of plants.

Hanji, predictably, was fascinated; and had taken to spending her evenings with potted plants she’d been grafting together, experimenting upon. And on the papers spread before her, she scribbled notes and scratched diagrams. Without her glasses, she was forced to squint to see, nose wrinkling as she lifted miniature pots, staring curiously at the sprouts. Even squinted as they were, her eyes caught the glint of the flickering candle, and seemed to glow with an eager light.

As she studied, Levi read, tucked in the other open space at the table. So far, reading had occupied most of his spare time. He too, had raided the old woman’s library. But instead of scientific manuals, he’d selected works of literature.

For the first time in his life, he had the time and inclination to read.

By the light of the dying candle, they’d eat. And then, after a swift clean up, to bed.

Hanji had, at first, taken the moth eaten couch and left Levi the bed.

One night, however, when the moon lit the room in a pale, ethereal glow, she’d toed over the creaking floorboards. Minutes stretched to eternities as she stood, undecided beside the bed. When she finally slipped between the sheets and they shifted together, scars pressing against scars, he held her. And muttering reassurances against her skin, convinced her that  _yes, this was okay_.

Time stretched on, ever strange.

After a long day, they lay beside each other in bed, and Levi could feel each of her breaths, every shifting movement on the mattress. It was a night nearly identical to the one in which they’d first shared a bed, the pale moon lighting the room, flinging shadows across the worn, wooden floor.

When she rolled to face him, he turned his head, and the scarred flesh of his face scratched against the pillow.

Her dark hair was loose, pooling around her and over the pillow, and she watched him, face long and pale in the moonlight. The mattress dipped as she scooted closer - and then her hands were cupping his face. When she kissed him, it was gentle, as exhilarating as the feeling of fresh rain on his skin, still wondrous even now, despite life in the underground being years behind him.

His fingers traced her wrists and up the soft undersides of her arms, as her lips traced his lips.

Contentment. It was something he’d, when fortunate, been able to catch for himself in brief moments. It never lasted.

This was something for which he’d never dared to hope.

But, as his soldiers were so fond of saying, luck was rarely kind.

Hanji pulled back.

In her place, cold air gnawed at bare skin.

She looked at him like a painter at study, a dimpled wrinkle between her brows.

Thumbs tracing his scarred face, she finally spoke. “You can’t stay here forever, you know.”

Her voice was a whisper, low enough so as to not be overheard by the moon.

“Why?”

She gave him a look. The one reserved for difficult experiments - or unruly recruits.

“This is nice. But it’s not like you to indulge in fantasies, Levi.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he twisted his head. The inconsistencies in their escape; the isolated farm; time’s strange existence within the valley - it was all coalescing into a horrible, sinking certainty.

He pressed a desperate kiss upon her palm.

It was missing a scar. A short, ugly thing she’d gotten prying a titan’s tooth from it’s jaw.  _How could he have forgotten?_

“It doesn’t have to be. A fantasy,” he said, desperation growing, a sinking pit in his stomach.

“Maybe someday. I’m surprised though; I thought you’d prefer the real thing. Besides,” she said, thumb stroking a path down his ruined cheek, “it’s not like you to shirk your responsibilities - or your promises.”

A jolt, sharp and painful speared his chest.

He’d forgotten that, too.

“Who knows? Perhaps we’ll get lucky. Maybe one day we’ll have this for real. But for now, Levi,” she said, brushing fleeting kisses on his lips, forehead, and nose, “we’re needed. _You’re needed_.”

Heaving a tremulous breath, he yanked her close, drowning himself in the feel of her skin, the press of their bodies against one another.

“Levi,” she whispered at his ear. “It’s time. Wake up.”

Above him, leaves trembled. They were painted golden with the fresh light of dawn. The damp sweat of a fever freshly broken clung to his neck and chest.

He shivered.

The ground, covered in leaves, was cold and hard against his back. Hanji, hair tangled and grimy with dirt and river water, curled at his side. Scratches lined her knuckles, fresh and puckered.

Levi, feeling at his face, touched wrappings, hardened with blood. His injuries - still new.

Hanji muttered, shifting in answer to his waking movement.

When he looked at her, her eyelids were fluttering. For a second he saw her, stretched out, safe and comfortable in a shared bed in the country.

Bleary eyes focused when she realized he was awake and watching her.

“Levi,” she murmured, rising on an elbow.

One look at his face and she was rolling closer, hands running over the bandages on his torso and leg. A flash - like a memory, and he saw a light blouse clinging to her shoulders as sweat stained hands felt long scarred wounds.

Rolling back, she peered down at him, studying his face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He lifted a bandaged hand. His battered fingers trailed over her cheek.

Her brown eyes stared through him.

“Levi?”

He dropped his hand.

“Fucked up dream,” was all he could answer.

She hesitated, clearly attempting to read something in his expression. 

“...just a dream?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. How did one go about mourning the loss of a life that had only ever existed in the depths of his subconscious?

“We’ve got to get back. Find out what kind of a shit show’s happening,” he finally replied.

 _Forward_ , he thought,  _was the only palatable direction now._

“Can’t argue with you there,” Hanji said, still looking at him strangely. “I don’t think you’re ready to move yet, but - hey,  _Levi!_ ”

Bracing a hand against the dirt, he’d shoved himself up.

Half-crouched, he swayed as Hanji clutched at his arm.

“ _What’s wrong with you?_ You’re going to re-open half your wounds.”

“They’re gonna need us.”

“If they do, they’ll need us alive and well. Not bleeding out.”

“Hanji.”

“Levi,” she answered, meeting and holding his stare.

“I made a promise, and...I’ve got a duty,” he said, echoing the words her dream facsimile had uttered moments before. “And I can’t fucking move on until I fulfill them. So I need to go now. Fucking please.”

“First of all, this duty is mine too,” she said, giving his arm a shake. “And your promise is not yours to bear alone, Levi. I’m with you.  _Always_.”

With no glasses to shield them, her eyes were wide, bright, heartbreakingly earnest.

Closing his eyes, Levi leaned into her. For a moment, he allowed himself the indulgence of touch - felt her warmth, the steady press of her every breath.

Then, inhaling, he turned his attention inward, assessed his battered body.

He was hurt, but healing. Faster than he’d expected. His muscles ached and the gashes in his skin stung, but he was sure they wouldn’t hinder him should he need to move.

“I’ll need to take it slow, but I’m okay to move.”

“Really,” she replied, voice flat.

“Fucking really.”

When she didn’t reply, he heaved a breath, “Hanji-”

“Okay.”

He looked to her.

Pressing her lips together, she nodded once. “I trust you. If you say you’re good enough to move. Then, well - I trust you. Let’s get moving.”

He grabbed her before she could rise. On his knees, he clutched at her sleeve, sure of what he wanted, but afraid of the cut of reality’s cruel edges.

The dream had been sharp - painful. A tease of all he couldn’t have.

He could bear it. He knew that.

He’d dealt with pain before.

But feeling the fresh, absurd sting of loss, he promised himself that if he could have just this one thing, he’d be content.

He brushed a fumbling hand over her cheek, then ran his fingers over her hair.

Hanji watched him, lips parted and a frown between her brows. Her gaze, wide and questioning, flickered over his face. Again, straining to read something - anything in his expression.

What she found had her drawing a breath.

Slow, careful of the wrappings around his body, her hand crept up, sliding along his arm.

“Levi?”

Leaning in, he brushed the matted hair back, trailing his fingers down the side of her neck.

“Hanji,” he breathed, “Can I-”

“Yes.”

Beneath shivering leaves and golden light, they shifted against one another. The press of their lips was the gentlest touch either had felt in a long while.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly so.

But it would have to be.

For now.

Their very existence was in peril. Awake, and with the cold reality of morning nipping at his exposed skin, it was clear to him that his dream had been just that - a dream; the fanciful product of fever and exhaustion. As long as enemies existed within and without the walls, any kind of peaceful existence was an impossibility.

While their enemies stood against them, his selfish desires could never be sought. Which meant: to have his peace, he’d first have to finish this war.

As acknowledgments went, it was a sobering one.

In the moments after they’d separated, when the waking sky had begun to blush pink, against his better judgement, he was compelled to ask:

“Think we’ll survive?”

Hanji, who was strapping the medical kit to her back, glanced up, the movement sharp.

“It’s not like you to speculate about the future,” she said, pausing to fasten the straps. “...I’d like to hope so. But I wouldn’t be so ambitious as to make any plans.”

He nodded, squinting in the direction of the rising sun.

“...ever thought of living in the countryside, Four-Eyes?”

The nickname fell from his lips, an old comfort.

Crouching at his side, she gave him another look. “Can’t say I’ve had much of a chance to really think about it. Why?”

“No reason-,” he said, and taking a steadying breath, reached deep inside himself for the well of strength that seemed to permanently reside there, lying in wait for when he should need it most.

Hand on her shoulder, he braced his feet against the dirt, and pressed up.

As the sun crested the distant hills, Levi Ackerman rose.

“-just a passing thought.”

The sound of their breaths broke the otherwise quiet morning.

“Not a bad thought,” she said.

They leaned against one another, two silhouettes merging into one. Side by side, they watched the rising sun climb across glassy water.  

“No, not bad,” he agreed, eyes on the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it! I’m sorry it’s a little bittersweet. I may come back later and write their retirement in the countryside becoming a reality :)


End file.
